The morning begins gently. I am calm and content, and well-rested after a relaxed weekend.
Coffee and a sunrise.
I woke still feeling a bit puzzled and hurt by words hurled at me (figuratively speaking) in a message yesterday, words heavy with pain and anger, directed at me by someone who has said they love me. I can’t honestly say “said by someone who loves me” because that kind of verbal violence tends to suggest pretty plainly that they do not feel that emotion. It does at least give me room for doubt. Attacks of the sort in which someone unexpectedly insults my creative work seemingly at random in an unrelated conversation feel very personal. It’s sometimes challenging to avoid taking such words personally – they are delivered as though they are quite personal indeed. It’s the sort of thing that also signals, in my own experience, that the attacking party feels very helpless in the conversation (or in life); they have begun lashing out at any available target that seems vulnerable, even human beings dear to them.
Be love. It’s a choice. Love is a verb.
I don’t tolerate personal attacks well. (I avoid making them, too.) I don’t find them necessary, generally, and if I feel moved to behave that way, myself, I know that the conversation is no longer productive, and has moved entirely out of the realm of reason, into the realm of emotion. Those are ‘no win’ discussions’ by definition – because it isn’t really possible to ‘argue with’ someone’s emotions – we are entitled to feel our feelings. Still, understanding what a human experience it is to be so moved that insulting someone, making hurtful personal remarks, or attempting to undermine their sense of self seems to be the thing to do, doesn’t make it acceptable behavior. Rational arguments don’t work against feelings, either. Most people ‘believe’ their emotions.
How we share our narrative is only part of who we are.
Some time ago… more than a year, maybe two – a friend insulted my creative work and intellect simultaneously in an online discussion that had, up to that point, been an interesting and reasoned discussion. (Significantly, I no longer recall what the topic of the discussion was, because the deliberate insult by a friend was far more emotionally important than the conversation in which it occurred.) She angrily directed me to “go back to painting vaginas” and advising me it’s all I’m good at. Now, aside from having painted only one such graphic picture in an artistic life spanning many decades (limiting the factual accuracy of her statement), it was clearly a hurtful remark intended as such, with the apparent goal of shutting me down in the discussion. Wow. How mean. I don’t generally do ‘mean’. Not deliberately. I gave some moments of thought to the friendship, and to the character of this ‘friend’, and with some sadness accepted that her idea of how she can treat friends, and my idea of how my friends might treat me were very different. In the 21st century, the solution is a simple click of a button labeled ‘friend’; I unfriended her and moved on without regret. I don’t place a positive value on treating people badly, and don’t need “friends” who are deliberately unkind with the intention of causing hurt.
“Gypsy Dancer” watercolor on paper, 1996
Yesterday, a very dear family member – someone whose love and affection got me through some very dark times – straight up insulted my writing, my character, and my emotional and mental health. Wow. I was taken by surprise by the emotional sucker punch in response to something I said that was kind and supportive (aware of her humanity), and also vulnerable and honest. I would have been surprised had anyone at all said something so directly unpleasant, that it came from someone dear to me, who had often shared how dear I am to her in the past was very painful. My thoughts returned to it a number of times yesterday. I woke thinking about it today – and realized again how very like a poison these sorts of verbal hurts are. I remind myself that her pain is not my pain. That her anger is not my wound. She’s having her own experience. We each are.
Our pain creates a fog within our hearts, obscuring our view of life and love.
There’s no particular need – or requirement – that I take the words another human being fires in my direction as any more personal than anything else they might say or do, at all. It’s not ‘about’ me. (Most things aren’t.) In both cases, the hurtful words were delivered in reaction to my boundary setting – in both cases, boundary setting that may have felt new to the relationship. Change isn’t always welcome, and frankly neither is boundary-setting. In both cases, hurtful words seem reason enough to consider ending the association entirely; I am struck by how routinely I tolerate hurtful words from men without considering ending the relationship. That’s something that warrants further attention. It’s significant, but out of context it is also meaningless, only hinting at further chaos and damage.
Stick with the basics – it’s a great place to start.
This morning, I breathe and let it all go. The hurtful words showered down on me by others, when it happens, are of no more importance, really, than a passing rain shower. Those are not my emotions. Those words are not about me. It is something of a self-care miss, if I take the bait and get all wound up in hurting over hurtful words – the better choice, the kinder choice, being to let that moment of pain go by in favor of recognizing what a fucked up mess worthy of compassion that other human being is… although, if they are mean, perhaps I am not the one to stay around to provide them compassion, directly. We are each having our own experience, to be sure – and I don’t have to endure someone else treating me badly as part of mine. 🙂 The greater challenge is taking care of me without also lashing out at that other human being who has hurt me, maintaining a strong sense of self, firmly on my own path, uninjured and undismayed, and remaining gracious, understanding – and unrepentant about taking care of me. Did I mention there are verbs involved?
Beginning again.
As I consider wrapping up my writing this morning, I’m aware how often in the past I’ve allowed someone else’s anger, hurtful words, or cruelty to change my mind, change my actions, even change my will. I’m sure that’s been the point of it, generally. Today is a good day to be who I am, doing the things I love, painting, writing, speaking my mind, treating the world around with me with consideration and kindness – and changing my world. “You have no power over me.” seems the worthy quote this morning. 🙂
Evening Light 
Emotion and Reasons
This has been, so far, a very complicated weekend, emotionally. That’s neither good news, nor bad, it’s just damned peculiar and quite unexpected, although each time some challenge is met and passes by I find myself thinking “how could it not be so, all things considered?” It’s quite uncomfortable nonetheless. Some of the difficulties that have come up [for me] have been catalyzed by my traveling partner’s presence, which is just… so not okay with me. Other difficult moments have been dropped on my experience by OPD (Other People’s Drama), which could be avoidable, when I see it coming. In all cases, it’s been incredibly precious to have my traveling partner here for support, encouragement, and love. Even the difficult bits that were more to do with him than not are significantly eased by his presence, although I am not easily able to appreciate it fully in some emotional moments. I’m glad he’s here.
Sharing the journey can help me navigate obstacles more easily.
It’s clear, after a couple days dealing with me, that I’ve “hit a bad patch of road” on this journey, and my partner is my lover, my friend, my ally, my buddy, my confidante… but one thing he is not? He’s not my therapist. He suggests, and I agree, that it’s a good time to make an appointment with my therapist to discuss some of life’s recent… “inclement weather”.
Yesterday, quite unexpectedly, a Facebook friend (and long-time historical associate, someone who once resided in my home briefly), unloaded a quantity of emotional poison in the comment(s) on a post. The post was an innocuous seeming political post – I’ve been working on taking a more positive approach, instead of locking step with alarmist negative campaigning and media frenzy – and I wasn’t actually expecting anything from it (no likes, comments, views); I seriously expected it would be disregarded in the storm of shock-value headlines being shared, and angry rants about what isn’t okay today. Instead, someone I have long considered quite dear to me – a friend – just went off on me in an angry verbal outburst that crossed over to multiple threads, took many comments to write, and was just… It was the verbal equivalent of assault, and I definitely felt attacked. Viciously. Over a positive Facebook post supporting a presidential candidate. Ugly stuff – the sort of things that end up making the news because women deal with so much of it on the internet. I haven’t had to wade through much of that kind of thing – this time it came from someone I thought a friend. I was immediately overcome with horror, sadness, panic, fear; my PTSD flared up hardcore. It happened on the way to the farmer’s market. It could have gone very badly indeed. It wasn’t pleasant as it was.
My path is mine to choose.
I did my best not to panic. I read enough to recognize, appreciate, and deal with the practical matters; I deleted the comments, first (don’t leave spoiled poison on food prep surfaces). Threats, crazed hateful accusations, intimidation… this is not the sort of stuff that ought be left lying around Facebook where people could be hurt by it. I blocked this person who had once been dear to me; it isn’t in my best interests to excuse, tolerate, or justify someone’s ill treatment of me, or to permit it to continue. I was still in shock, shaken and frightened. PTSD is a bad-ass, and doesn’t back down easily. I finished my shopping with little enthusiasm, and headed for the safety of home. On the way, I logged into each social media account I have, of all types, and blocked the person who attacked me. Mistreatment is a very good reason to end a friendship.
I got home and sought space and isolation, seeking emotional safety. My traveling partner and another friend were hanging out, and when I attempted to excuse myself, asked me gently to share, instead, and be supported. I did. I didn’t expect much; men don’t deal with some of this sort of thing as much, or in the same way, or as often on the internet – their haters use different language, or maybe it reaches them differently, or… no, hell, that just sounds sexist. The simplest truth, I felt wounded and alone, and I didn’t expect anyone would really understand, and that I’d be told to ‘get over it’ and ‘move on’, and told to minimize the impact, or calm myself without regard to my actual experience. I was so wrong! My partner and my friend listened, looking angry and appalled, using words as first aid to help me past the worst of it. I cried. I let my hurts be soothed. It was very human, humane, kind, compassionate, loving – the sort of thing one expects from friends.
My traveling partner is right, though; in the space of such a short time, to hear from exes, to deal with internet haters and trolls, to ride out life’s storms in a dingy is a lot of work, and I could likely use a bit more help. I “need an oar” with which to row; it’s time to make an appointment with my therapist. My emotional experience, at least lately, is sufficiently volatile to evoke a question about hormones from my partner at one point; it’s an easy answer to “what the fuck?”, before menopause. There’s no shame in needing medical help, and having both a TBI and PTSD I am well aware that mental health care is “medical” in nature… so it’s off to the appropriate doctor I go. 🙂
It’s been quite wonderful to share the weekend with my traveling partner. To need him emotionally in some dark moment and actually have him right here is powerful. To want his company, and enjoy it without crossing town, is a treat. The pleasant moments have been by far the most plentiful. I try not to deal with myself overly harshly that I am so human, having made that remarkably clear this weekend with my difficulty managing my emotional life skillfully. I pause to really appreciate my traveling partner’s insight, and new awareness that I’ve been treating myself poorly on a couple points – it isn’t necessary, nor an accurate reflection of “what it is”. Attachment issues again? Oh yeah. So human. 🙂
Today starts well – most days do, actually, regardless what direction they go from there. I haven’t had enough sleep, and the sleep I got was restless and disturbed. I’ll probably crash early tonight, sometime after my traveling partner departs. Maybe not. I thought I was both tired and sleepy last night when I went to bed; I laid awake well past midnight, and woke at 4 am. I managed a nap until not-quite-six. The morning is cool and overcast. My head aches. I’ve no idea where the day will take me…but I know I am my own cartographer, having my own experience. I know I am not alone. 🙂
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